In Her Eyes
by effulgentcolors
Summary: Everybody talks about how Killian looks at Emma. But do you know how she looks at him?


For so long now she has been his star, his every constellation. She has been the light guiding him home. And Killian thinks it's only natural that he looks at her as such and tries, _tries_ to show her all the love and devotion that is swirling inside him, more powerful than any storm he has ever weathered.

But he can never quite believe, quite comprehend, when _she_ gets that look. In those moments he swears he has to dig in his nails in the flesh of his palm just so he can believe the reality of it, so he knows that yes, this is Emma Swan, looking at him as if he is the one that has brought her home.

It's the way she looks at him when he lays her down on their bed. As if she has waited her whole life to belong and to feel and to touch and to be touched. She lets herself sink into the mattress and she looks like she is weightless, floating, completely relaxed and yet buzzing with excitement, with anticipation. And when he touches her she only grows softer and her smile is so bright he thinks they don't need the moonlight streaming in from the windows. And when she touches him at first she is almost hesitant, her fingers light and questioning as if she is not quite sure yet that she has this, _him_. And every time he can pinpoint the second she remembers that he is hers, completely and forever, just like she is his, and in that very second her touch starts to burn, and there's magic, the kind of magic only they can create.

She looks at him as if he is the one she has been waiting for her whole life.

It's the way she looks at him when he is playing a video game with Henry or training him in swordplay behind David's back. There's a light about her that he has never seen before. It's soft and tender and full, so full. She looks at him as if he is the missing piece she has finally found. And she looks _complete_. Like there's nothing else in the world she could ever need, ever want, like she could stay in the here and now forever, frozen in her spot, leaning against the full kitchen sink, listening to their shouts and cheers gain volume and just watching them. And it seems that if this is how she spends every second of every day for the rest of her life, she would be happy - unbelievably, sickeningly, absolutely _happy_.

She looks at him as if he is her future.

It's the way she looks at him when he is drying his hair. Her smile is so young. He exits the shower and suddenly Emma Swan is a carefree girl again and she just wants to play and laugh and dance in the rain and kiss in the ocean and live every single cliché in the book with him. She is just so_ light_. As if the weight of the world is no longer on her shoulders, it no longer even exists. And he is the only thing that exists now. And then her hands are in his wet hair, pushing it back and then forward again and this way and that way until she is giggling and tugging at him and they are tripping and her kisses are sloppy and she just _cannot stop laughing_. And the whole time that young hopeful girl never runs away.

She looks at him as if he is her freedom.

It's the way she looks at him when she is tying his scarf around his neck. Her gaze is soft, so soft and yet so imploring as if she is willing him to be safe and warm and happy. And it's not just a desire or a wish of hers, it's as if she _needs_ him to be happy, physically, with every fibre of her being she needs to make him happy. And oh, how well he knows that no one has cared so much for him, no one has put him first, no one has been willing to do anything and everything just so that he will be alright. But now she does. And her eyes, locked with his, say that she will never let him down and her fingers, brushing against his neck, say that she will always take care of him and her lips against his temple say that he is more important to her that mere words could ever convey.

She looks at him as if he is the most precious thing she has ever held in her hands.

It's the way she looks at him when they have stayed at Granny's till too late. She radiates heat. Her every look, her every feather-light, and supposedly accidental, touch is like a shock of electricity and she is addicted to the buzz. She eyes are dark, so dark and deep, as the sea the way only a sunk ship sees it. And he thinks that he has sunk too, sunk so deep into her that there's no way out even if he wanted to find one. But then her teeth tug on her lower lip and her tongue swipes over them quicly and her pupils are dilated and he starts to realize that she is right there with him, buried beneath the rough, heavy sand that they never want to crawl out of. Her breathing is the slightest bit shallower and if she is drowning then it doesn't seem she wants to be saved, doesn't want to ever resurface.

She looks at him as if he is the endless ocean.

It's the way she looks at him in the morning.

(And maybe it's because of the way the morning light illuminates every emotion in her eyes, maybe it's because there's nothing but them in the quiet of the early hours, maybe it's because sometimes he is sleeping and doesn't get to see it but he still _feels_ it. He doesn't know why but this is his favourite.)

Because in the morning, when he can feel the sunlight playing over his face and slowly warming his neck and he can feel the crisp wind lifting the end of his hair and teasing his ears, she looks like she has found a treasure. A treasure that she has been through hell and back for, one that she has held out hope for even when all hope was lost, one that she still isn't quite sure is real. And sometimes she reaches over and runs her hand over his eyebrow and down his nose and then thumbs at his chin. And she is _so in love with him_ that he starts thinking he has to be dreaming too. But the more her fingers explore his face, the more awed she looks, the amazement and gratitude and wonder in her welling up until she looks like she is about to burst. And that's when she kisses him. And then he feels it too. The magic. And he knows it's all her, the savior, the princess, his beautiful, powerful, amazing Emma. But her eyes tell him that she doesn't think so, and that's the one he has the most trouble grasping because she believes it's _him _and he doesn't know _why_ but he knows it to be true. Because he knows that look.

She looks at him as if he is her light.


End file.
